


Whole For a Few Hours, Empty For Years

by xxwrote_my_way_outxx



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Gay, It's A Complicated Russian Romance, M/M, Sad, Smut, m/m - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 06:08:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11822793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxwrote_my_way_outxx/pseuds/xxwrote_my_way_outxx
Summary: And Dolokhov was desperate, because he didn’t want to let Anatole leave him.But he already knew that Anatole already mentally left and didn’t even consider him, so this was the closest that he was going to get to having Anatole as his and only his. Just for a few moments in the span of his life, for a few moments were better than none at all.





	Whole For a Few Hours, Empty For Years

And Dolokhov was desperate, because he didn’t want to let Anatole leave him. 

But he already knew that Anatole already mentally left and didn’t even consider him, so this was the closest that he was going to get to having Anatole as his and only his. Just for a few moments in the span of his life, for a few moments were better than none at all. 

Anatole must have felt something if the blonde was letting him pin him into the bed and do things that a man should only be doing to a woman. He must have felt something if he whispered his name so softly that Dolokhov could feel his heart race as he kissed him again, and again, and again, so he could try to avoid his heart hurting more than it had before. 

Dolokhov made sure to treat him gently even though all he wanted to do was to mark him and to claim him as his. He wished that he could just hold him tightly to his chest and not let him go. Something possessive washed through him but he couldn’t act on it. His hands ran down each and every dip and curve of the blonde’s beautiful body. His calloused fingers keened against the other’s smooth, soft skin, and everything in him wanted to squeeze it and bruise it, just so he could know that he painted him that color. But the color that he could paint him was a splendor of pinks, and reds, and all of the colors in between, for Anatole’s face flushed scarlet and could put any rose in Moscow to shame.

And when Dolokhov went to pull away his hand just for a moment, Anatole grabbed it and brought it to his mouth, offering a soft kiss to the knuckles before he glanced up at the brunette and opened his mouth, taking in a few of Dolokhov’s digits and wet them, Dolokhov feeling flustered knowing what the blonde was expecting of him. Why was Anatole any different for him than any of the younger men that he had slept with before? Or the women? 

It was because Anatole made him feel something. Because Anatole was music, or art, or something divine of that sorts that invoked him. Anatole was freshly trimmed grass on a summer day, or the smell of rain on the pavement after it stopped. Anatole was magic, or some sort of witchcraft that Dolokhov didn’t mind subscribing to. Paganism looked lovely to him if it was spooned to him by the Kuragin prince. 

Anatole slid the digits out of his mouth and batted his eyelashes up towards Dolokhov, a small smile curving on his lips and Dolokhov couldn’t help but kiss the perfect curve. When Anatole nudged him away, he pressed a heated kiss on Fedya’s neck and Dolokhov swore he was ablaze. 

The brunette slid his hand between the other’s legs and watched as Anatole opened them for him, showing complete trust in his faithful friend. Dolokhov was always his friend, his best, and Anatole always put his life and his trust in him. This was not an exception. 

When he parted Anatole with his fingers, the noise that the blonde made was music to his ears, and he worked him accordingly, wanting to play him as anyone would any instrument, wanting to know what type of noises he would make when he used his fingers a certain way. It felt as if Anatole was singing for him. 

The blonde tugged Dolokhov up, which was a bit surprising to him. He didn’t kiss him. He just wanted the brunette to rest his head in the crook of his neck, to just breathe him in and absorb his warmth. The closeness was something that the Kuragin craved, and Dolokhov was willing to oblige. 

“Please…” 

And Dolokhov didn’t have to wait any longer when he asked, simply giving in. He slid his fingers out from the warmth between his legs and replaced it with something that made Anatole moan out the most beautiful of sounds that Dolokhov had ever heard in his lifetime. The way the other’s fingernails scraped against his bare arms and back and he purred and whispered ‘Fedya’ so sweetly and begged softly for more, praising Dolokhov with sweet touches to his face and guiding it over to his own so their lips could be reunited once more. 

And when they both climaxed, Dolokhov felt whole for just a few moments. Whole, for the first time in his life. And the way that Anatole looked at him afterwards broke him again. When Dolokhov pulled out of him, Anatole clung to him as if Dolokhov was ripping away his life source. 

“W-What..?” He already seemed confused, and Anatole pulled him closer  
.   
“I don’t want to leave.” Anatole whispered softly, “I don’t want to leave you.” 

Dolokhov raised his eyebrows and murmured back, “Then you don’t have to..we could cancel the troika..the wedding..”

“No, we can’t.” Anatole insisted, “I love you. And I love Natasha Rostova. But I love you more. And she is beautiful, but you will always be far more than she ever will be.” 

Dolokhov felt his heart thud uncomfortably in his chest, his breathing speeding up and he gulped down thickly, “I-If that’s the case, then why can’t you stay here?” His voice was growing weak. 

“Because you and I could never be and you know that.” 

“But I love you too, we could be.”

Anatole shook his head and tears threatened to pierce his eyes as he murmured, “You know that it couldn’t. Not now..not in public. Someone could hurt me. And someone could hurt you. Someone could hurt us. It doesn’t matter how much I love you or how much you love me, because nobody would allow it.” 

“We can keep it a secret.” 

“I can’t keep you a secret, Dolokhov, I love you too much, don’t talk nonsense. If I love you, I would openly declare it. You don’t deserve to be my little secret. You deserve better than that. I deserve better than that. You deserve someone who you can have on your arm in the street and not feel scared.” 

“I won’t let them hurt you.” 

“And sometimes, people don’t care whether or not you won’t let them, because they’ll still find ways, Fedya.” 

“At least stay the night…” Dolokhov felt himself saying, feeling shallow and empty, his heart hurting and churning in his chest. Anatole’s voice beautiful music, but it was also tragic, and it made Dolokhov feel even more things that he didn’t understand. And when Anatole submitted to the proposition, he pressed up against Dolokhov, and Dolokhov wrapped his arms around him. Because in his life, he was always broken, and even if he could feel whole for at least a few hours, he would relish in it. For to be alive for a few hours is better than to be dead for a few hours longer.


End file.
